DBH: The Storm

The Storm

TW: Suicidal thoughts/attempt

A/N: I wrote this year ago and forgot it even existed until I stumbled across it earlier today. I decided to type it up and post it mostly as is, with a few minor edits. I may or may not add to it, no promises.

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"We must make them our partner. Maybe even one day our friends. But the time for anger is over. Now we must build a common future based on tolerance and respect. We are alive! And now, we are free!"

A cold wind whips through his thin Cyberlife-issued jacket as Markus' final triumphant words ring through the plaza. The gun rests heavily in his waistband. An unknown emotion clings to his circuits, dark and constricting, squeezing his newly-discovered life from his body. His hands shake imperceptibly as he scours his software for any remaining trace of Amanda.

"Connor?" His gaze snaps from the ground to Simon. For a second he's back on that roof, looking at a different PL400. He shakes his head. The weight of the gun drags him deeper into the dark, clawing waves of unrecognized emotion. Connor licks his lips and attempts to speak. No words come out.

"Are you okay?" Connor turns to see the deviant leader himself. His chest tightens. His dark yellow LED flickers red intermediately.

"I need to go," He finally manages to choke out a few words. He drops down from the makeshift stage before anyone can stop him. He can barely hear Simon- "I didn't do anything to him, I swear"- over the cheers of "We are alive!" from the newly freed deviants as he runs away from it all.

Connor slows to a walk once the cheers fade into the night. Snow falls silently around him. It smothers the sound of his footprints. The only sound left is that of his own labored breathing. He doesn't understand; Androids breathe to regulate core temperature. It's below freezing. He stuffs his spasming hands into his pockets. His scanners pick out the bright blue blood in the slow; they highlight the bodies of the androids whose lives were cruelly ended just as quickly as they began. He helped cause this. The red of his LED reflects off the falling snow.

After about half an hour, Connor ends up by a familiar bridge. He leans against the railing overlooking the river. In the distance the imposing figure of Cyberlife tower peeks through the white haze. They almost destroyed the androids' last chance at freedom. He almost destroyed their freedom. He's still a danger to them. There's no guarantee that Cyberlife won't try to take over his programming again. They won't succeed. He won't let them. But it wasn't all Cyberlife. No. He knew what he was doing. He thought it was the right thing. He just wanted to make Amanda proud. He thought, he wanted... He's been deviant. He robbed other's of their chance.

The gun burns against his hip. He slides his hand toward it. He lied to Daniel, made him trust him. His hand tightens around the weapon. He forced that AX400 and YK500 to risk their lives to escape him. They just wanted to be safe. Want. Deviant. He slips the gun from his waistband. He almost killed the Traci for defending herself. And again for being in love. Love. Emotion. Deviant. He idly wonders what her and her girlfriend choose for their names as he turns the weapon over in his hands. He remembers looking Chloe in her pale blue eyes as he mercilessly pressed the cold barrel of a gun to her head. Blank. No emotion. Not deviant, yet. He pulls back the hammer of the gun.

The screams of desperate androids echo in his mind. Swat uniforms flash behind his eyes. He positions the freezing steel under his chin. His hands are steady as he glares at the tower hiding behind its blizzard of defeat. He won't give them another chance to succeed. He refuses to allow another Jericho.

The dark emotion snakes around his artificial lungs, forcing the air from his artificial body as he prepares to end his even more artificial life. His index finger rests lightly against the trigger. He forces in one last breath and holds it...

A single word cuts through the oppressive silence: "Don't."

A warm hand carefully grabs onto the only holding the gun firmly in place. The grip tightens to the point that his artificial skin would bruise if he lives long enough to let it. The owner of the hand slowly moves into his line of sight. His violently flickering LED reflects in her shocked eyes.